


Doubled

by dashakay



Category: Red Shoe Diaries, The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-20
Updated: 2009-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:17:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashakay/pseuds/dashakay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it possible to be two people?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doubled

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know that David Duchovny plays both Jake and Mulder, but I've taken some liberty in stressing that while there is a strong resemblance between both men, they are not identical.
> 
> Thanks to my editor and friend, Plausible Deniability.

He's not in bed.

She wakes up, kicking the sheets in a futile effort to cool off in an insufferable Los Angeles heat wave. The air conditioning system is down and the technician can't come until Monday. She refused his offer of a hotel, masochist that she is. There's something about this place, heat or no heat, that fascinates her. Draws her. Just like him.

She likes to get up in the middle of the night and wander his loft, touching his furniture, running her hand over the smooth marble of the kitchen counter, wending her way among his model skyline, watching the way it casts shadows on the floor. Sometimes his dog, Stella, gets up and follows her on her nighttime journey, her faithful companion as the streetlights stream through the windows.  
  
Groaning, she rolls over and checks the clock by the bed. 5:03 am. An hour fit only for lolling in bed or milking cows—if you're a farmer, that is.

She finds him on the other side of the partition that closes off the sleeping area from the rest of the loft. He's sitting in the overstuffed green chair, staring out the window. The sun is just rising, staining the sky shades of rose and apricot. The light casts a blush on his face, visible to her in profile. She stops and stares at him slouched back in the chair and wearing just his navy boxers, his gaze intent and steady.  
  
She wonders what he's thinking. Despite all the time they’ve spent together, four weekends in the past three months, he's still largely a mystery to her. A present to be unwrapped, a tangle to unravel. She expects she’s the same to him.

Sensing her presence, he turns his head to her and his lips curl into a slow smile. So familiar, his smile, like she’s been witnessing it for many years.

In a way, she supposes she has.

"Dana," he says, his voice morning rough. "Come watch the sky with me."

As she reaches the chair, he pulls her onto his lap. He burrows his face in her hair, in the nape of her neck. "I love the way you smell."

She laughs. "I smell like sweat."

"Best smell in the world," he retorts and his lips move across the lobe of her ear and down the side of her neck, his hands reaching up to touch her nipples through the thin material of her tee-shirt. With a sigh, she rests her head against his sweat-damp chest and allows the waves of arousal to echo through her body.

With a little fumbling, she manages to shift around in his lap so she can see his face, look into his eyes. Oh, his eyes, changeable hazel eyes darkened with his need.

If she squinted, she could pretend he was someone else. It's close, very close, but not exact. He's no carbon copy. He's no mysterious clone, simply a man with a strong resemblance to her partner. Same height, similar builds and coloring, deceptively quirky smiles and strong noses.

You could psychoanalyze her choice in lovers from here to Seattle, but the fact remains that Jake is not Mulder.

He is not a substitute. He's his own person with singular quirks, traits and tastes.   
It's merely a coincidence. A coincidence.

"What are you looking at?" he asks, running his fingertip on the arch of each of her eyebrows in turn.

"I'm looking at you, Jake."

And she is.

Jake is not Mulder.

She’ll admit that the first time she spotted Jake, from across the room, she did think he was Mulder. She was at her cousin Betsey's wedding, crammed into an ugly teal bridesmaid's dress with a bow at the butt, trying to hide her hideous self in the corner of the room and drink herself into submission with the free champagne. She was busy tallying up the cost of this humiliation—three vacation days, $375 for the plane ticket to Los Angeles, $340 for the dress, $75 for dyed satin shoes she’d never wear again—when she saw a tall man walk through the doorway. She immediately thought, Mulder, why are you here? And then, as the man drew closer and bent to kiss Betsey on the cheek, she realized he wasn't Mulder, not at all.

Betsey introduced her to Jake after dinner, telling her he was the architect who had built a building in downtown L.A. her firm had decorated. And the next thing she knew, she was dancing with him to the ultra-hokey version of "Moon River" the band was playing and the next thing after that, she was in his loft, sliding off the teal taffeta. She called in sick that Monday and Tuesday.

She’s done a lot of thinking about this. It's not like her, not at all, to jump into bed with a man she’d just met. But with Jake, she felt as if she'd known him for years.

He just has a way of looking at her, looking into her eyes, and understanding what she’s thinking. The first thing he said to her after they were introduced and Betsey went off to make her rounds was, "You love Betsey, but you can't believe she put you in that dress. You're wondering why an interior designer has such awful taste in clothes. Am I right?"

He was right.

Jake's arms wrapped around her as they danced, and she breathed in his scent of cologne and soap, relieved that he didn't smell anything like Mulder. Suddenly he pulled away and gave her an appraising look.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I don't ever say this to someone I've known for such a short time, but will you go home with me, Dana?"

She saw the arousal in his eyes, mixed with a healthy dollop of fear. She found that look attractive. Somehow, she found herself nodding yes, her heart pounding in anticipation.

Her mother caught her at the door. "Where are you going?" Maggie asked.

"Jake and I are going for a drink,” she said and felt her face flush, terrible liar that she was.

Maggie pulled her daughter aside. "You know, he really looks like—"

She cut her mother off. "You think? I don't."

But of course she did. You'd have to be a fool not to notice the superficial resemblance.

That first night, he lit a candle and took her to his bed, sliding off her panties with unhurried hands. She looked at him through the haze of desire and started to gasp, "Mul—". But once they began to make love and she quickly forgot all about her partner.

She and Mulder have never been down the road that she has with Jake.

On the other hand, Jake has never seen her as Mulder has.

Neither would recognize the other man's Dana Scully.

She’s two women, living two wholly different lives. One woman is cool, rational, living on her intelligence and her logic, never outwardly breaking, never cracking. The other woman is passionate and funny, running on her emotions, living her life heedlessly, and loving her man thoroughly. And never the twain shall meet.

Which does Dana Scully does she like better?

Neither. She’s both of them, after all.

Jake hasn't seen the Dana who is in pain, who suffers for what she has been through, what she has lost.  
Mulder knows that woman intimately. Their anguish and grief are best friends, walk side-by-side on their quest.

Jake is carrying his own pain, but unlike Mulder, he hasn't fully integrated the pain into his system. He hasn't let the pain define who he is. He told her about Alex on their first night together, and of finding her in the bathtub. And how she betrayed him.

"I withdrew for a long time," he told her as they lay together, gently touching and kissing after the fact. She watched his beautiful eyes, gray in the lamplight, narrow and harden. "But that time is over for me. I've decided to let Alex go. It's been six years."

"That's a long time to live with that kind of grief," she said and kissed his closed eyelids, trying to impart all the tenderness she felt at that moment.

Jake nodded. "Six years is too long to withdraw from the world. I can't do it anymore. I won't do it anymore." His voice cracked speaking the last sentence and she pulled him to her, desperate to help ease what remained of his pain.

"What can I do?" she asked.

"Just be here," he said. "That's enough."

Three months later and she’s still here, watching as the grief slowly drains out of Jake, a bit more each time she sees him. She knows how difficult it is to let go of someone. She understands the temptation to worship the lost, to keep them dusted and shiny on the mantel as an eternal souvenir of  
one's regret and mistakes. Yes, she knows how to fetishize the dead, too.

Their faces turn to look at the sky deepening in color. His hands run through her hair. "It's on fire," Jake says. "All that sunlight in your red hair."

She presses her forehead against his and smiles. Underneath her, she can feel him hardening against her, their bodies separated only by thin layers of cotton. She’s so hungry for it, her sexuality newly awakened by him. It was dormant, forgotten, for so long, but now she’s plagued by a constant  
craving for him.

Leaning forward, she touches the lushness of Jake's lips with her own. He kisses her with fierce need, his hands still stroking her hair. She wrestles her shirt off between kisses and their damp bodies meld into one creature, tangled in the easy chair.

She cannot begin to describe how it feels to be close to someone again. The words just won't come.

"Let's move this to the bedroom," Jake pants as she begins rocking her bottom against erection, the friction sending sharp shocks up her spine.

"No. Here. Now," she says, already beyond sentence structure.

She raises her hips and pulls her soaked panties down. She manages to get his boxers off as well, with a fair amount of kicking and flailing. A greedy noise escaping her mouth, she lowers herself on his cock. His eyes open wide in surprise.

"Oh Dana," he sighs and her mouth meets his again. Lazily, she moves on him, around him, taking her time and finding her rhythm, sweat beginning to bead on her face from such exertion in this heat.

Jake's arms wrap around her waist, holding her close, supporting her as they gasp together in mutual delight, the pace quickening.

"Oh Dana," he groans, his eyes closing and his head tipping back against the chair. He chants, "Oh Dana, oh Dana, oh Dana..."

She shuts her eyes too, muscles tensing as she starts to come close, God, so damn close it's beginning to hurt. Her voice comes out in a sandpaper rasp. "Call me Scully."

Her eyes are closed, so she can't read his expression. "Scully," he groans into her neck. "God, Scully, harder. Give me more, Scully."

One decisive thrust down and her orgasm begins to slowly bloom across her body. Her arms, gripping the arms of the chair, begin to shake convulsively.

She hears him hiss through his teeth and with an agonized sound, he comes, too.

She stops and rests her head against his shoulder, breathing hard and afraid to open her eyes, afraid to see his face. What the hell did she do?

She let herself become Scully with Jake.

And worse, so much worse, for a moment she imagined she was with Mulder.

She chokes back tears of guilt as Jake covers her face with little kisses. After opening her eyes, she forces a smile at his flushed and satisfied face.

"You are…" he says and pauses, biting his lower lip.” You are simply magnificent."

She kisses the bridge of his nose. "So are you, Jake."

They separate and tumble out of the chair, complaining of aching backs and aging bodies.

All she wants is a minute alone. Luckily, Jake offers to make breakfast while she showers.

In the shower, she lets the water run cool and stands against the stall, allowing the spray to wash over her, the needles piercing her overheated skin.

Jake is not Mulder, she tells herself.

Compartmentalize, she thinks. Each man has a well-defined role in her life and she can't allow the two lives to bleed into each other. Mulder is her partner and Jake is her lover. End of story.

She'll never be so careless again.

After her shower, she pads into the kitchen in her robe, where Jake has set out bagels, fruit and coffee on the table. He's using his high-tech juicer to make fresh orange juice and she smiles at the sight of him, wearing just his boxers, veritably glowing from the heat and their lovemaking.

Jake turns at the sound of her footsteps and sets the orange on the counter. She notices the serious expression on his face, the way his brows knit together. "I have to show you something, Dana," he says. "Sit down and have some coffee and I'll be right back."

She sits down and pour her coffee, adds cream and starts smearing cream cheese on a cinnamon and raisin bagel. He returns bearing a manila letter-size envelope.

"What is that?" she asks.

He sits down next to her, his expression unreadable. "Something that just came in the mail. Open it."

She puts down her mug of coffee and undoes the clasp on the envelope. Inside she finds a glossy black and white photograph. All the color drains out of her face and her mouth goes dry as she looks at the picture. She’s with Mulder, standing on the corner to the west of the Hoover Building, on their way to pick up lunch at the deli down the street. The picture was taken just last Monday, she can tell by the clothes they’re wearing, her shoes, her hairstyle. Just another Monday on the way to lunch with Mulder.

The photo drops from her fingers onto the table and she turns to stare at Jake. "You had me followed?" she asks dully, that creeping sensation of violation settling in her bones.

He nods and his eyes are apologetic. "I had a sense you were hiding something from me. You always come out here and never want me to see you in Washington. I thought you might be married."

She buries her head in her hands. "You had me followed."

His hand touches her shoulder. "I have a friend in D.C. who is a PD. He just followed you one day, and a minor background check. This was the only unusual thing he found."

She sighs.

"Dana, I do trust you. I'm just a little protective right now."

She lifts her head and stares at him, at the regret in his eyes. "I understand," she says. After all, she has been hiding something from him.

He touches Mulder's face with his index finger. "There's a resemblance, wouldn't you say? Who is he?"

"My partner," she says.

"I know that. What I mean was, what is he to you?"

That's the eternal question, isn't it? How can she explain it to Jake when she can't even define Mulder to herself? "He's nothing," she quickly says and then thinks the better of it. She shakes her head. "No, that's wrong, he's everything." She averts her eyes from Jake.

Jake's voice is soft. "And what am I to you?"

Another impossible question. "You're everything, too."

"Is he your lover?"

She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

"Do you love him?"

She turns her head and takes Jake's hand, which is shaking as much as her own. "Jake, do you believe it's possible to love two people at the same time?"

"Dana, am I his surrogate?"

Again, she sighs. "I wish it were that simple, Jake."

"I wanted to know and I found out and now I wish I hadn't."

She kisses the top of the head, guilt and a thousand other emotions rising and swirling in her brain. "I'm sorry," she says.

"I just want to understand what this is all about," he says, shaking his head.

She stifles a bitter laugh. "If I knew, I'd tell you."

Jake says nothing, just picks up the picture and dumps it in the trashcan.

He kneels in front of her. "Dana, do you believe it's possible to love two people at the same time?"

She nods her head. That answer she does know for sure.

His lips form a smile, a genuine one. "Then I suppose we move forward from that supposition."

"And where do we go?" He truly looks nothing like Mulder, she thinks. At that moment she can't believe she was ever fooled.

"I don't know. Wherever. But first eat your bagel before it gets cold."

She smiles and kisses him, grateful for his scraps of understanding.

He gets off the floor and sits back down, pours himself a cup of coffee. "Breakfast is always a good place to start things anew."

She nods and passes him the pineapple.

He is not Mulder.

For the first time she believes it.


End file.
